Colonial Daughter

by Heather Garside

  ‘Louise,’ he whispered in entreaty. Suddenly he was closer than she’d realized. His hands slid up her arms and he bent his head to kiss her mouth, once and then again. ‘I know I’m not much compared to those titled gentlemen your father probably has lined up for you in Devon, but I would take good care of you.’

  ‘Jack!’ She pulled away. His lips tasted of the cabbage and boiled onions they’d eaten at supper and she resisted the urge to wipe her hand across her mouth. ‘I’m fond of you, but even if that was enough for me, it wouldn’t weigh with Papa.’ Their fathers might be cousins, but their families were poles apart. ‘Anyway, Charles will be coming to fetch me once he has our passage booked and he isn’t likely to be impressed by any plans of ours. You don’t imagine he would sail without me?’

  Jack released her with obvious reluctance, disappointment and a trace of resentment edging his voice. ‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Is he so relentless, your brother?’

  She laughed lightly. ‘Yes, he is. I don’t think you’d like him.’

  He moved away from her and resumed his stance beside the veranda post, staring despondently at the dark blur of the flower bed bordering the house. Louise watched him, biting her lip. It was clear she’d hurt him and she regretted that. If she loved him, she supposed, she’d have fought for him. But she wouldn’t marry for convenience.

  Perhaps Jack was too unworldly for her. By upper class standards he wasn’t particularly cultured or well educated. His gauche shyness made him unexciting to her, accustomed as she was to men like Charles.

  Louise drew up her skirts and petticoats and rose to her feet. Jack turned from his contemplation of his mother’s garden to help her but she was quick to shrug his hand off her elbow. ‘I think we should both go in, Jack.’

  ‘So that’s it, then? You’ll be going to England?’ He’d moved between her and the door and was barring her way. Louise hoped he wasn’t about to kiss her again.

  ‘Unfortunately I see no alternative.’

  He finally stepped back, allowing her to precede him through the door. As they joined the others, who were enjoying a singsong around the piano, the younger Barclays greeted them with inquisitive glances. James and Mary made no comment on their absence, inviting Louise to add her voice to the others while Jack retired silently to the corner, a glum expression on his face. Perhaps it was as well she would be leaving them soon.

  ~*~

  On retiring Louise smuggled several newspapers and journals to her room and began leafing through them. At last, in an issue of the Morning Bulletin, she found the address of a Rockhampton employment agency. She set about writing a letter to them, advising of her urgent need of a teaching position, preferably in the western districts of the colony.

  She described her eight months of experience in the Barclay household and listed her personal accomplishments. These included the genteel arts of music, drawing, painting and embroidery, as essential to the education of a refined young lady as the three Rs. Adding another twelve months to her age for good measure, she signed herself, ‘Miss Lucy Forrest’. Lucy was a convenient derivative of Louise and Forrest seemed an imaginative alias, neither too obvious nor too unusual.

  Finally she set about forging a character reference from her cousin, copying his handwriting from a letter he’d sent her before she came here. She practised his signature on a scrap of paper before adding it to the reference and placed both sheets inside an envelope which she addressed to the agency. Her problem now was to find an opportunity to post it.

  That was only the beginning, of course. The success of her plan depended on the agency finding a place for her before Charles arrived to collect her. Hopefully her preference for the western districts would work in her favour. Most governesses were reluctant to venture into the newly settled areas, with all the associated dangers and discomforts of pioneering life. Charles would have to set his affairs in order at Banyandah before his departure and engage a manager to run the property in his absence. A passage to Portsmouth would have to be obtained, which could mean a wait of several weeks. At the worst she could take her courage in both hands and simply flee, whether she had a position to go to or not. She would manage somehow.

  ~*~

  The next day was Sunday. Louise heard that one of the men was riding to Gainsford to spend his day off there. Since she happened to know this particular stockman was barely literate, he was the ideal person to post her letter. He was unlikely to note the forwarding name and address.

  When she saw him leaving, she left the house and hurried after him, waving the letter in her hand. ‘Tom, will you post this for me in Gainsford? I finished it last night and when I saw you riding out ...’She left the sentence unfinished, smiling at him with as much charm as she could muster.

  ‘Why, certainly, miss.’ He returned her smile and tucked the letter safely in his shirt pocket.

  ~*~

  The next three weeks passed with excruciating slowness. Yet another Tuesday arrived, accompanied by the mailman with his packhorses. Louise was in an agony of suspense. There was nothing for her, not even a word from Charles. But on the Friday afternoon a visitor arrived, an Indian hawker with a loaded wagonette. His stock was extensive, consisting of articles of all descriptions: dress materials, patent medicines, books, kitchen utensils. He was a glib, persuasive fellow with ingratiating manners and perhaps hoping to win Mary’s favour, he’d collected their mail from the post office in Gainsford.

  After he’d gone Mary thumbed through the mail, passing a letter to Louise. ‘Here’s one for you.’ She paused, frowning at a second letter. ‘What is this one? “Miss Lucy Forrest, care of Mr J. Barclay.” Who on earth is that?’

  Louise forced a laugh and reached quickly for the letter. She was prepared for this. ‘Oh, that’s for me. I submitted a piece to the Morning Bulletin, using a pen name.’

  Mary looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know you wrote.’

  ‘It was just a poem. They’ve probably rejected it.’

  Louise excused herself and hurried to her room to read the letters. First she opened the envelope addressed in Charles’s bold handwriting.

  My dear Louise,

  I have booked our passage to sail from Keppel Bay on the first of the next month. I shall be arriving to collect you on the twentieth.

  Hurriedly she consulted her calendar–that was Tuesday, only four days away!

  I hope my letter precedes me and that I find you packed and ready. I trust Cousins James and Mary are in good health.

  Your brother,

  Charles.

  If it hadn’t been for that God-sent hawker, your letter wouldn’t have preceded you, brother dear, Louise reflected grimly. A fine mess I’d have been in then.

  She picked up the second envelope and turned it over for a moment, suddenly afraid to open it. It was from the agency, of course. Supposing they had been unable to place her yet? What then?

  She mentally shook herself and tore it open, dispensing with the paper knife. This letter also consisted of a single sheet only, but it was more closely written than the first and she scanned it quickly. She realized she’d been holding her breath when, after the first couple of lines, she released it in a sharp gust of relief.

  The agency had secured a position for her with a family who lived near the township of Banana. They required a governess to teach four young ladies in reading, writing, arithmetic, music, drawing, painting, embroidery and needlework. The family, a Mr and Mrs Greenwood of New Haven, offered a comfortable wage and living quarters and the governess would be treated as a member of the family. The agency had taken the liberty of booking Miss Forrest’s seat on the coach out of Westwood on Friday the thirtieth, three weeks away and had written to inform her prospective employers of her arrival date, enabling them to meet her in Banana. Mr Greenwood would pay her outward fares.

  A combination of fear and excitement bubbled up inside her. Banana! It was supposed to be a busy teamsters’ town, somewhere south of Gai
nsford, she thought. And these people lived out of town, so what were the chances of Charles finding her there? It seemed fate was with her after all.

  Chapter Two

  Louise decided Sunday would be her best chance of making an escape. With no church close enough to attend, the Barclays always passed their Sabbath with prayers and visiting their neighbours.

  She made her apologies after breakfast, pleading a sore throat and a headache. The headache was genuine, if the sore throat wasn’t. The previous night she’d been unable to sleep, her mind racing with her plans and increasing apprehension. Mary must have been convinced by her wan face and shadowed eyes, as she accepted her excuses without question.

  Louise watched them off from her bedroom window: James, Mary and the two children in the buggy, the older lads on horseback. Suddenly she realized she might never see her cousins again and her throat constricted. They’d been good to her, all of them, and they deserved better than this deceit she was about to practise on them. But she squared her shoulders, pushing her remorse aside. She would need to call on all her resourcefulness and a large measure of luck if she was to succeed in eluding Charles.

  When the others were out of sight she reached for Jack’s valise from the top of the wardrobe. It was perfect for her purpose since it was designed to be carried on horseback. Wiping the dust and cobwebs from it, she began to pack.

  She chose two of her plainest daytime dresses, underwear, stockings and a pair of button-up shoes for everyday wear. Then she hurried to the little storeroom where she knew the men kept their swags. They frequently camped out when mustering and she’d seen Ed carry them there. Selecting one from the pile, she paused.

  On a rack behind the door were several rifles. A rifle would be awkward to carry, but on the shelf beneath in its case was an Adams five-shot revolver. James had shown her how to load and fire it, in case of an Aboriginal attack. Grabbing the gun and cartridges, she carried them and the swag to her room. She stowed the revolver and ammunition in her bulging valise, then unrolled the swag to add a few extra items: tooth-powder and brush, soap, towel, hairbrush and nightgown. She would be uncomfortably short of clothes, but there was nothing she could do about that.

  Adopting a casual air, she left the house to stroll to the saddle room. Here she found a quart-pot and a split sugar-bag which the men sometimes used to carry rations, and wandered back to the kitchen with them hidden in her skirts. It was the cook’s day off and only a maid was on duty in the kitchen. Busy drying dishes, the girl looked up at Louise in obvious surprise.

  ‘Please go to the men’s quarters, Sally and ask one of them to bring the horses into the yards for me.’ At the girl’s questioning look she added easily, ‘I’m feeling much better now. I’ve decided to follow the others. Mrs Barclay said to do so if I wished.’

  ‘Very well, Miss.’ Sally set off obediently and Louise abandoned her languid manner, stuffing the sugar-bag with the necessary provisions for a couple of days. She’d no idea how long it would take her to reach Banana, but she hoped to be able to buy food from teamsters or station homesteads en route if she fell short.

  She carried everything to the back garden and stowed it all under a shrub. There was no-one about to see her. She returned to her room to change into a riding habit and riding boots. Finally she sat to write a letter to James and Mary. This proved to be the hardest task of all and she was interrupted when the maid knocked on the door.

  ‘Hopkins has run the horses in, Miss and he wants to know which horse Miss wants him to saddle for her.’

  Louise looked up from her letter. ‘Tell him to saddle Shadow, the bay Galloway. Ask him to bring him to the gate and tie him there, if he will. I shall be along presently.’

  She resumed her letter, trying to still the trembling of her fingers. She’d suddenly realized the magnitude of what she was doing and her heart raced. She was about to leave the sanctuary of this house to fend for herself on the road, sleeping beneath the stars with only a revolver for protection. And she knew nothing about this family at Banana. But she’d gone too far to back out now.

  At last she finished the letter and read it through uncertainly. She hoped that James and Mary wouldn’t think too badly of her.

  Dear Cousin James and Cousin Mary.

  I hope you will forgive my reprehensible behaviour in taking leave of you like this and in making free with your possessions. I know it is poor thanks for the kindness you have shown me during the past eight months, but I am determined not to go with Charles and I understand that you could not intervene to help me.

  I was careful to choose a horse that should not be too sorely missed. I shall take good care of Shadow and one day I may be able to return him to you. I have left ten pounds in payment for him, together with a further fifteen to cover the cost of the swag, saddle and revolver. I hope the loss of them does not cause you too much inconvenience. You may do as you wish with the possessions I have left behind.

  You need not fear for my welfare. I am going to a family who require a governess and I have enough money to support myself for some time. When Charles arrives, please tell him not to waste his energies in searching for me. He is most unlikely to find me.

  The months I have spent here have been the happiest of my life. Please accept my gratitude. I wish I did not have to leave you like this and I deeply regret any distress my actions may cause you. Please extend my goodbyes to all the family and I trust that Lindsay and Sarah do not neglect their lessons.

  Your affectionate cousin,

  Louise Ashford.

  She folded the pages with a small sigh and wiped a trickle of moisture from her eyes. Sealing the letter in an envelope addressed to ‘Mr and Mrs James Barclay’, she propped it on her dressing table. Then she spared a final glance at the room where she’d spent so many contented hours, gathered up her riding gloves and hat and walked briskly outside to her waiting horse.

  ~*~

  Not wishing to be recognized, Louise gave a wide berth to the camp of a teamster with his bullocks and loaded wagon as she crossed the river. She skirted the town of Gainsford, its single street almost deserted on this day of rest. The town had been built at the junction of three roads and lacking a map to guide her, she could only guess which way to travel. But she’d already decided not to go east to Westwood, since Charles would be arriving from that direction in two days’ time. Since she knew Banana lay somewhere to the south, surely the southbound route to Bauhinia Downs must point her in the right direction.

  It was lunchtime when she rode away from Gainsford, but her churning stomach rebelled at the thought of food. Besides, there was no time to eat. It was imperative she be well away by nightfall. She carried water in a canteen strapped to her saddle and Shadow had drunk at the Dawson crossing, so he would tolerate a dry camp tonight. The October weather was warm but not hot enough to cause him real distress.

  After several miles the lancewood and rosewood ridges opened into better grazing country timbered with box, gum and broad-leafed ironbark. Louise rode steadily, sometimes trotting and cantering, then dropping back to a walk to allow Shadow to gain his wind. Speed on this first day was crucial, but she’d achieve nothing by overheating or exhausting her horse.

  She tried not to think of the future, hoping the sickness in her stomach would disappear if she concentrated on her surroundings. The bush seemed to envelop and soothe her, the silence broken only by the steady rhythm of her horse’s hoof beats and the occasional carking of a crow, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the breeze. She enjoyed the gelding’s smooth, easy paces at the trot and canter, but she was forced to use her heels and the whip when she drew him back to the walk. Shadow’s problem wasn’t so much general laziness as an unwillingness to extend himself at that gait.

  Louise found herself regretting the spurt of conscience that had prompted her to choose the Galloway over one of the Barclays’ favourites. She should have taken Mary’s big grey Cavalier, whose mouth was gentle and whose free, long stride was a d
elight to ride. But no, she couldn’t be so callous, for Mary thought the world of her Cavalier. At least they wouldn’t miss Shadow.

  Shadow’s redeeming points were his quiet nature and puny size, enabling her to mount the sidesaddle with the aid of a log or a stump. He was an attractive horse with obvious breeding, but his mouth had been spoiled at breaking, making him dangerous to gallop in the timber after cattle. Louise wasn’t concerned with this failing at the moment, but his reluctance to walk out and his inclination to jig-jog were frustrating. She was tired and irritated by the time she made her solitary camp by a dry gully a couple of hours after first dark.

  She’d avoided the usual watering stages, skirting the camps of teamsters and other travellers. A woman riding alone would provoke undue attention. At the very least she might be recognised or reported on to Charles and at worst there were plenty of unscrupulous types in the bush. She refused to dwell on the possible dangers, but set up camp some distance from the road, in a clump of bull-oaks and stringy-bark where she felt comparatively safe.

  She’d watered Shadow again at a stagnant, shrunken pool in one of the creeks she crossed. Now she hobbled him out to graze and set about building a small fire. Although she’d never done this before, she’d watched the men often enough. With relief she watched the dry leaves and twigs flare into life and soon there was a small blaze to set her quart-pot beside.

  When it had boiled, she added tea leaves and sugar and ate her frugal meal. By this time she was hungry enough to enjoy the dry bread and salt meat. The tea was refreshing, not as strong as the men usually made it, hot and pleasantly sweet.

  Unable to spare any of her precious water for washing, she wiped her plate and her fingers clean with a clump of dry grass, unrolled her swag and brushed out her hair before braiding it for the night. Reassured that Shadow was still grazing nearby, she loosened the lacings on her corset and took to her swag fully dressed.